


what she fights for

by evenmyneck (stopmopingstarthoping)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Battle, Crushes, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/evenmyneck
Summary: It’s gradual, the way that Hilda and Marianne realize they’re special to one another, and then all at once.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	what she fights for

Hilda steals a glance during choir practice, and she can't look away. Marianne’s hands are pressed together in prayer, face upturned as though she’s searching for the Goddess’ favor. She looks like one of those stained glass angels in the church on the Goneril estate grounds. Hilda thinks to herself that that’s silly, but she keeps looking at Marianne's long, slim tapering fingers and her delicate profile. She wonders if Marianne can play the piano. She wonders what Marianne does for fun. 

Hilda looks down at her own hands, broad, strong, not what she’d call graceful. She remembers once when she was little and the Gloucester noble family came visiting. A small, snotty Lorenz had called them “peasant hands,” and Hilda still smiles at the peasant-hand-shaped red mark she'd left on his cheek for the insult. 

She peeks over at Marianne again. Her voice is soft but pretty, a tentative soprano that Hilda tries hard to pick out around the voices of her classmates. She slows her step as they all leave, trying to catch Marianne to share a meal, maybe just talk a little. Hilda can't remember the last time she was so eager to uncover someone’s personality. She feels so nervous, hoping Marianne will like what Hilda shows her, too. 

Marianne watches Hilda run, kicking a ball around with Leonie and Dimitri. Her laugh rings out free in the warm spring air, and Marianne looks down again and picks at the stitching on her skirt. She looks back up as Hilda winds up and lets loose a powerful kick, and the ball sails up into the air and all the way to the other side of the yard, followed by the shouts and laughter as they chase it. 

Marianne watches Hilda’s legs pump as she runs—despite her insistence that she doesn’t like working hard, it's clear she’s enjoying this. She’s simply playing, and the undiluted joy of it makes Marianne’s chest hurt. She yearns for several things at once, and she cannot disentangle any one of them from the others. She looks down again, but the image of Hilda’s ponytail streaming behind her stays in her mind for a long while. 

It’s dark and dangerous and terrifying, and none of them feel up to this battle. The enemy’s reinforcements came, and their hearts sank, but backed into a corner, they’d fought through it. They’re all hurting and scared, and Hilda renews her grip on the hilt of her axe, waiting for the next move.

Byleth is shouting out orders, and their voice is hoarse and tired, but no less determined. Hilda moves into position and turns to look for Marianne just as an enemy knight with a sword corners her for a vicious blow. 

Marianne’s cry is surprised but also regretful, like she's been interrupted in the middle of a task. She crumples into a heap of robes in the dirt, and everything in Hilda’s mind seems to slow down. She wants Marianne to get up so badly, to unleash some of that powerful magic on the man who’s hurt her. But she doesn’t. She stays down, and Hilda can't see from here whether her chest is rising and falling or not. 

She turns toward the sword-wielding bastard who’s cut Marianne down, and a yell escapes her throat as she raises her axe and rushes him. Her blows land once, twice, and then far too many times, and she’s screaming in rage. Hilda whirls to confront another one, this one an archer trying to shoot Seteth out of the sky, and Byleth’s carefully-laid plans devolve into chaos.

Hilda screams herself hoarse before Raphael finally pulls her away; the battle is over, at least for now. Hilda gasps air into burning lungs and stumbles a little in Raphael’s grasp. She looks up at him gratefully before dashing over to the wounded, searching frantically for hair a shade of robin’s egg blue. 

Marianne pulls a painful breath in and sips at the vulnerary pressed to her lips. A strong, warm arm wraps around her shoulders as the fog clears. 

Hilda laces blood-spattered fingers through Marianne's freezing cold ones, still shaking from adrenaline.

“It wasn’t okay, what they did.” Hilda’s jaw is clenched.

The fire is still burning in her eyes and Marianne thinks she is terrifying but also so, so beautiful. She drinks again from the vulnerary that Hilda holds, and eventually takes it from her shaking grasp. Hilda’s breath is stuttering out of her chest, and she sits down hard next to Marianne. 

Wide, surprised rose-pink eyes meet her own and then a studied defiance sets into Hilda’s face. She reaches over and uses her thumb to wipe a smudge from Marianne’s cheek. Her hand lingers just a little, and she looks deep into Marianne’s eyes. 

“No one will ever get that close to you again. I swear it.”

Marianne looks at Hilda and it’s too much. Emotion rises in her throat and she looks down at her lap. She’s not worth it, not worth a single scratch on Hilda's majestic warrior’s body, but she can’t find the words to say that. Her voice sticks in her throat and scratches out. 

"You don't have to…”

Hilda scoffs, and Marianne trails off. Marianne reaches out a tentative hand to lightly caress Hilda’s bloodied cheek. Hilda, reflexes ever sharp, snatches at Marianne's hand and holds it. Hilda presses Marianne’s cool fingertips to her own warm lips and holds Marianne's gaze again. 

“I  _ swear _ it.” Her breath tickles Marianne’s fingers.

Marianne looks at her hand pressed to Hilda's lips and feels, just for a moment, like maybe she  _ is _ worth it. The elusive, darting bravery makes her bold. She sits up straighter, wincing a little still from her injury, and pulls Hilda close. 

“Thank you.”

She presses her forehead to Hilda's, and the dam breaks. 

It’s Hilda, not Marianne, who’s sobbing.

“I was so scared…” Her words are hard to understand around her crying, but the way she’s holding Marianne’s hand so tightly makes perfect sense.

Emboldened again, Marianne leans forward and kisses a tear from Hilda’s cheek. Again Marianne finds that she doesn’t have the words to say it, but she vows silently to the Goddess that she will strive to deserve this devotion, no matter what.

“Thank you.” It’s not enough, the repeated words are insipid and paltry, but it will have to do for now. The small smile on Hilda’s face will give her strength.


End file.
